Speaking on sex
by Kirsche
Summary: As your gaze lingers on me, your lust arouses and you touch me lewdly, trying to claim me. If you're brave enough to glimpse around every corner thinking indecent thoughts, why not talking about it? Then, true your wish may come. Various couples.


**T/N: **Hi! This is **Imaginary Fushia** talking. I've started translating a few fics by **Kirsche** which you will find here, in Kirsche's account, so that she can receive the reviews and answer them. I'm not a native speaker, so please be merciful with me. I will read the reviews, of course, so if you want to point out mistakes or say something about the translation, please do so, I'd be enormously grateful to know what you think :)

I would also like to thank my two wonderful betareaders: **Superficial Faith** and **Shikamaru roxs my soxs**. Both of them helped to make this text sound a little bit more normal and kindly answered all my annoying questions, which I appreciate more than I can say :D

**A/N: **Well, this is going to be a series of one-shots with erotic content and various couples: cannon, crack, yaoi, yuri, etc. Each one-shot is self-contained, and as such you can read them all or just the ones of your choice, some have spoilers and some don't, but that will be indicated in each one-shot I don't know how many stories I'll write, but I accept suggestions. All kinds of reviews are welcome

Title: Letter from a Mythomaniac

Author: Kirsche

Translator: Imaginary Fushia

Pairing: Hanabusa/Kaname

Rating: M

Warnings: Yaoi, Slash, whatever you wish to call it. If you don't like reading about boys pawing each other, return to where you came from.

Disclaimer: VK belongs to Matsuri Hino

Letter from a Mythomaniac

The vampire was drawn in, his form hunched, struggling furiously against sanity among interrupted thoughts, shreds of yesterday, talkative exuberance and the painfully sticky smell of lavender. His eyes avoided the grayish light of the rainy afternoon, hiding restlessly behind his arm or behind the heavy drapes of the window. He should have felt relieved by the fact that today there was no intense sunlight to deal with, but his body was breaking apart as if a million sunrays were piercing through his being, tearing, gashing, burning.

The smell of wet soil was slowly taking away the delicate and drifting scent of lavender as the water drops, intent on erasing previously committed sins, fell on Cross Academy's roofs. He shut his eyes one more time, praying to the heavens for the rain to also wash away all his wounds, all the things he couldn't attain, even his own existence.

He fell down to the floor. It didn't matter if someone found him among a reigning chaos on his back and with a lost look on his face; his side of the bedroom was just as foggy and blurred as his brain. It couldn't have been any other way.

Every time a thought went through his head, he had to get it out, translate it into an explicit language whose intensity could be felt in each single word, in each single turn of phrase. And the more he wrote down, the truer it would become. The required elements would recreate themselves in the form of words, the measures would become accurate in the blink of an eye, the results would simply turn out to be as they were expected, his fingers grabbing the quill would feel the joy of success; because he was a genius, he transformed projects into a reality.

But feelings, oh feelings! How do you work with them? How do you measure them? How do they change and alter themselves? How can the science's genius trap them in a bottle and dominate them with his formulae? How can he make a reality of something that just slips from his clutching fingers?

And then, what should he do with all the things that were choking him? With all the things that were stuck in his mind, in his heart, in his soul? Where would end up such blissfully nocuous mess? If only he could become ink and write down all those unspoken words! Perhaps by doing so he may find the courage to speak out loud and avoid muffling the sound of that deafening scream born from the most unbearable torment. At least that way he would feel a little bit freer, less enslaved though a lot more hurt. _He_ would know about his feelings, _he_ would know about his self-imposed scourge, _he_ would find out about his idolatry ─ which was not merely illusory, but also inhumanly passionate. _He_ would know he was not a kid adoring a god on his pedestal, but a young man adoring an earthy existence.

That way he would rip all possible doubts about his illusions, all of his dreams would wear out and, with the subtlety of direct rejection, he would be able to finally burn away turning all of his yearnings to ashes. There would be no more hesitation or sadness, just the loneliness of someone who has been thrashed by the strength of unreasonable thinking; because the one who had ripped from him the ability to love wouldn't turn his melancholic eyes towards him, but towards someone who was delicately wretched and obtrusively innocent. But then, there wouldn't be any insane thread to which he could hold on, which gave him a reason to believe in a possible mistake, in which he could knit caresses, dreams and projects. The genius' magic that turns everything real would suffer an ominous fate ─ to fade away.

If the genius is severed from his brilliance, then there's nothing left of him; he becomes a being relegated to normalcy, trapped in a choking, demanding, enslaving society. Without his brilliance he would no longer be himself; he would become… he didn't know what he would become.

If he were a quill, if he were a pencil, if his feelings could touch that which he worshipped… he would show _him_, he would make _him_ see the beauty of his world, a place in which _he_ no longer had to feel sorry for others, in which he didn't need to subdue his essence nor hush his weaknesses. He would build up with his brilliance anything _he_ requested, no matter how capricious or fleeting the demand.

If only he could be ink! He would start off by inditing _Kaname,_ in a handwriting which would be graceful and flamboyant, but also firm and precise; leaning the words towards the right and avoiding honorifics or haughty titles, because this letter was meant for someone he held dear, though not for the distant figure in his apotheosis.

_Stay still, do not move from where you are. I like seeing__ you there, sitting on your favourite couch, so relaxed, stretching your legs, resting your arms, letting your thoughts fly away while looking at a lost point in the horizon where no one can reach you; yearning, sighing, dreaming… about what, nobody knows, but it brings you peace._

_D__o not change your posture, I beg you. Lay back and return to your made-up world if you wish. I would like, though, that your eyes could travel through these written symbols paying more attention than it is normal in this world filled with banalities, so that hopefully you will be able to understand more than this insane transmitter is capable of setting forth._

_Whimsical, lofty, fickle and irrational, that's who I am; as temperamental and ill-timed as the element which I summon. But, oh no! Do not make such a face. I am not here to drone about me, I just fail to know for sure how to start explaining the reasons for my writing. You are already familiar with my tendency to become bothersome and mixed up, and I am fully aware about the irritation that said traits cause on you… All right, all right, I know, we should not talk about so irritating matters._

_Can I take a seat? I will sit__ here, or at least think that I do. I will not settle on a chair by your side, as it is not my intention to disturb you. I will choose some distant place where I will not stand in your way. With sneaking eyes, we will look at each other in the darkness of your room, playing a game in which we see and avoid seeing each other at the same time._

_Close your eyes, my lord, please do it so I can concentrate better. Do not worry, nobody will listen, nobody will see us, please trust me. Do you know what? I like staring at you, I like discovering your gestures little by little under the moonlight. I've been watching you for so long now, but still I do not grow tired of it. I would hate to lose any new discovery. Moreover, this is the only way in which you can be mine… because I know you belong to somebody else._

_Do not open you eyes, my lord, and do not speak either, let me go on. Is it unpleasant the feeling of my fingertips on your lips? Forgive my daring, but I just want you to listen to me. You and I. Yes, I know it disgruntles you to think that there could be something between us ─ that is why you and I do not belong together. Can I touch you? Maybe it would be better if you touched yourself, my lord. Place your hands on your face and caress yourself lightly with your knuckles. Your hands are beautiful, and while I find pleasure in looking at them, I also ache to touch them. If I could do it… I would graze you softly, so gently that you would feel as if my fingers were butterflies fluttering past your skin. I would uncover, so very slowly, every sensitive fiber of your being. Would I find new emotions in your alluring face? Would you like that? Then run your fingers along your neck, let them slide under your shirt. Are they cold? Why are you smiling? Does it feel good? Keep going, keep touching, my lord, continue feeling pleasure and do not feel shame. Would you rather I touched you?_

_Imagine that it is my skin on yours, slithering though you chest, finding those places which make you gasp. Now my thumb is on your areola, tracing invisible circles. Do you want more? You will get more, my lord; I will touch you with my lips… but where? I will not tell you, you will not know where I will kiss you until you feel me. Do not panic. Oh! Do not press your thighs like that, I am not going to hurt you, see? My fingernails touch very lightly the satin with which you are covered. What do you say? That it makes you shiver?_

_Do not open your eyes, my lord, let the fantasy flow._

_Take off your shirt. Can you feel my locks of hair grazing your skin? I will snuggle my nose against your neck while my hands keep caressing your body with the same gentleness as before. Would you like to touch me, my lord? You may if you wish; I would most certainly love it._

_Your lower lip between both of mine would be treated as the sweetest morsel on earth. Part your lips and imagine that I slide inside you. Little by little I start stroking every corner of your mouth as you move with me, slowly, because we have just begun knowing each other, there is no need to hurry, we have got all the time in the world. It is better this way, because we enjoy every sensation as much as we can. I am yours; you are mine. But just for this short second in time._

_Touch yourself while I caress you again, tangling my fingers in your hair, discovering the great sensitivity of your neck, kindling the passion in your chest, making you writhe in a way you had never expected by just stroking your navel. Neither had you imagined that you could arch your body at being kissed so passionately while one of your nipples and your spine were being grazed lightly._

_Slide your hand past__ your navel. Do you feel how your hairs shake under your touch? Ah! Do not feel abashed at brushing that part, yes, spread your legs a little bit to be more comfortable. Explore, enjoy every single stroke in that exquisite groin. Surround it with your fingers and imagine that my lips are wrapping it, pressing lightly and travelling through all its length, dematerializing your hardness inside my mouth. You taste of beauty, of subtlety. You taste of… the purest glory._

_My hands do not stop their ministrations towards your body. I touch you here, I touch you there, feeling the boiling heat of your stomach and the trembling of your testicles. The drops of sweat, like glittering pearls on your beautiful frame, make you shine under the moonlight. You are such a dark beauty._

_Do you want more, my lord? Keep going, letting yourself be dragged through this illusion, I will get you ready with my own fluids. Is this your first time? Do not fear, for I will lead you slowly. Remember ─ time does not reach us here._

_Do not get disappointed, my lord. Now just follow these lines displaying in your brain all the sensations described in order to reproduce them ravenously. Ah, but do not stop touching; neither will I._

_I will kiss your lips again, playing with your tongue. I will caress your back, I will stroke your buttocks. One of my hands will lift one of your lovely legs. Which one would you prefer, the left one or the right one? It is the same for you? I will lean onto your body and you will feel me moving inside you. First you will feel as if a strange agent were exploring too intimate places. Your muscles might tense a little, but you will like it. Little by little you will relax again, your breathing will not be so shallow, you will let you body rest on this sweet touch. Your stomach will contract, as now your skin holds tightly one of my fingers. Your spine will spread the electric shivers that my movements create. You will writhe, your mind will be blown out, your body will abandon its physical place, you will ask for more because this has not ended yet._

_Do not do that, do not open your eyes, my lord. Let yourself be wrapped up by these powerful sensations, feel my caresses as the silk that now covers your body, so delicate, so warm and alluring. I am wringing the purest ecstasy from every part of your being._

_You will arch your back while your hands squeeze the couch, that astounding is my hardness inside of you. We will start very slowly, as the innocent explorers we are, but your body will not be able to hold on for very long because you like it, because it drives you mad, because you no longer know where you are. You will moan, you will sweat, you will scream for more… Sometimes we will go incredibly fast, at others we will go slowly again, and you will twist in pleasure, panting desperately, coming undone in every unstoppable wave of ravenous heat, because I am inside you, touching you over and over again, here where you like it most, here where it most arouses you, here where it makes you wish you never had to breathe again._

_Set yourself free, my lord. Take over this instant, grab me as roughly as I take away your soul in this heartbeat in time. Nobody can rip this instant from us, during this fleeting moment you are mine as my hand lingers on your face, on your groin, on your back, on your neck, on your arms, as my lips steal from your mouth your last breath. Eyes closed, you will try to look for me and I will plunge into you as deep as my anatomy enables me, so that you feel that it is just us._

_Do you see? We will__ always be like this. You, with your beautiful face filled with pleasure, my hands on your body, your tears spilling amid the silence. You, enveloping me with your warm and tight skin, forever and ever, because time has gone, we have run away from it, this mystic instant will be eternal from now on, until the very end._

_Open your eyes, my__ lord. Speak the name of whom you love, speak it instead of mine. Oh no, do not worry, remember that I am not next to you, because what was meant for us has already been consumed, and you know it. Get up, stretch those legs and do not hesitate at all in forgetting all of this, in continuing with your life leaving me aside, because after this I rest in peace, because what I feel… what I truly feel… is no longer unknown by you._

Hanabusa turned his back to the window through which the frail sunrays were entering the room. He squeezed the sheets of paper, destroying them at the mere contact of ice, and watched as the words disappeared, forgotten even by their own author. Oh, that would be fine… it would be okay that all those thoughts and feelings should be destroyed by the merciless cold of ice.

**A/N:** Mea culpa: I'm a fangirl of fangirling Aidou (does the word "fanboy" exist?); he's a character absolutely fun to write about, delicate and sharp, serious and childish, completely bipolar, crazily brilliant or brilliantly crazy, does it matter which? I don't think so. I close my eyes and all I can imagine is how softly Aidou treats Kaname, which can easily be seen by just paying attention to his feelings. So much suffering, so much agony and a pair of hands that can't reach far enough to sooth, and eventually that erodes him, burns him, you already know what he feels, don't you? That's why this one-shot is delicate, soft, tender; because underneath that frivolous and big-mouthed façade, Aidou is just that ─ pure love.

Please, leave a review *puppy eyes* A happy author writes more one-shots.


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